An open letter to the farm rooster:
Dear Mr. Rooster,
I would like to inform you that dawn, in fact, does not break at 3am in the night, but way later in the morning.
I would therefore appreciate it if you could delay your wake-up calls to around 6am, if not later.
Best Regards, Or (aka the underslept Wwoofer)
I arrived at a beautiful family-run farm near the city of Verona on a rainy day. After everything that could possibly go wrong, did go wrong (two train delays, bus to the wrong nowhere instead of the farm nowhere) and while heavily hungover after 4 days of partying in Florence, I thought my mood couldn't get worse. Until the confused rooster started crowing in the middle of my first night, that is, hence deepening my sleep depravation.
On my second day on the farm, still raining outside and in, I started to develop a (light, yet pretty embarrassing) medical situation which I did my best to ignore. "Tutto va bene", I kept telling myself and the family. Of course I can spade like two acres of land to create the vegetable garden. I'm happy, I'm healthy, I'm... sobbing incontrolably for no visible reason, while pulling weeds.
But I'm a Wwoofer girl, and Wwoofer girls don't cry, right? I kept suppressing both my physical and emotional feelings until, unfortunately (but luckily for me), the daughter of the family broke her toe and had to be taken to first aid. "I think I'll come with you, I might be needing a doctor myself", I told the mother, trying to avoid giving out details and/or bursting into tears. At last, I got to see a doctor. Have you ever tried explaining a weird medical situation in a foreign language? Not the easiest thing in the world but frankly, at that point, I didn't care whether the doctor spoke Italian or Swahili - he was the savior, he had the medicine, he could help me.
Days became better as my health improved. I spent loads of time in the professional kitchen, cooking and baking. Israeli? Make us Hummus, and Falafel, Pita bread would be nice too. I got used to it and am glad about how much my Hummus-making skills had improved, ironically, during my month in Italy. Wow, you're a pastry-chef as well?? Make us an endless ammound of cakes, cookies and desserts! And make I did. Even though the family only consists of four people, the teenage boy eats cakes by the pound and the others aren't that far behind, so I got used to baking family-sized goods every day.
What seemed to be missing, then? I believe that the company of people my age. After my first farm, in which I lived with only the 57 y.o. farm owner for two weeks (who is an amazing woman, by the way) in a place that was a 45 minutes walk from the nearest town that miraculously seemed to have lost all its inhabitants between ages 20 to 30, Florence was a breath of fresh air. But was it a long enough break between one secluded farm to another? When I found myself sharing my thoughts with horses, chickens and even the annoyingly-early rooster, I understood something must be wrong. I can't be talking to these animals - they only speak Italian! Wait a second...
Questions started echoing in my head: Did I make the right choice? Is this really the life for me? Maybe I should change my plans completely? Then more questions: I love having fun, visiting cities and partying but when have I done that for more than 5 days and not gotten sick of it? Also, realizing that with my current lifestyle I've been spending about 1/4 of what I used to spend back home, and since I hadn't won the lottery yet in Italy, perhaps it makes most sense to give all this another shot?
"Ciao people of Verona! I'm currently working on a farm close to the city and though it's beautiful, I am in lack of some young, fun company. If anyone would like to meet in the city center during the weekend, hit me up!"
That's the somewhat desperate post I wrote on the Verona wall on Couchsurfing. Anxiously waiting for any reply whatsoever (except for creepy guys with no references), I finally received the perfect message from a really nice girl inviting me to a party with her friends. Of course I immideately accepted and got into my (only set of) nice clothes. The party was everything I expected it to be and more, having a bonfire in the hills, then mojitos in a villa in the city, finally crashing on a very-comfortable couch and getting a ride back to the farm on a motorcycle the next morning. I felt rejuvenated, ready for another dose of farmlife, and then I realized - there's no right and wrong. The key to everything is finding balance and being brave enough to face the situation when you (temporarily) lose it.
See y'all next time, or - a presto!
